Dear Derek
by forgetpoundgivemekoenig
Summary: Ok, so writing to a jail bird is a little bit desperate, but when your best friend gets a hot girlfriend and leaves you to your own devices, it's all you can do.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **

**Hey there, come here often?**

**I'm sure you do and**

**You're gorgeous.**

**No, seriously.**

**Anyway, I don't own this shit, so yeah. **

* * *

_Dear Derek,_

_First off, can I call you Derek? I mean, I know you're 24, and that isn't that much older than me, but I don't know if you're more of a "Mr. Hale" kind of guy. It's totally cool if you are, but until you answer, I'm just going to call you Derek. _

_Now, before we really begin this pen pal-ship, I think you should know that I don't know how to get any good drugs. Not that you're an addict or anything but, if you are, my drugs are thoroughly second rate. _

_I also have no interest in breaking you out, at least not since I watched this one episode of Prison Break where the prisoner got away and the other guy got arrested. _

_Needless to say, the prisoner didn't come back for him. _

_It kind of sounds like my best friend Scott, who's gone incognito since he got a girlfriend. Her name is Allison, and she's pretty and nice, but Scott's totally forgotten I exist. That's partially why I'm writing you, since I now have no one to talk to. _

_Not that you're second best or anything. I'm sure, were you not in jail, we'd be good friends. _

_You know, I didn't even know prisoners got letters. I thought you were shoved into dog crates and fed once a week (lol). Not really, my dad's a cop, so I know a lot about life behind bars. Well, more than some people. _

_Were you homeless before you got sent to jail? _

_I don't know a lot about you, since I just found this list of criminal correspondents and picked at random. Dad's a little pissed that I didn't talk to him first, but I told him he's got a gun, and he keeps it with him at all times (Even when he sleeps. Remember that.)_

_Anyway, he thinks this is a good idea now, because I talk so much anyway. Even if you don't answer, I'll probably keep writing you letters, just to avoid talking my dad into an early grave. He already has a hard life, what with his job and his blood pressure and stuff. My constant chatter has to get a little tiring, even I know that. _

_You should definitely write me back though, because it might get a little boring just writing letters. I at least want to know you're getting them. _

_Sincerely, _

_Stiles Stilinski_

Stiles finishes the letter and sighs, tucking it into an envelope and sealing it up. He places a stamp carefully in the corner, shaking his head at the level he's stooped to. If Scott would answer his goddamn phone, Stiles wouldn't be forced to write to delinquents.

"Douchebag." He huffs, because Scott is currently on a date with Allison, and it still stings that he would blow off guy's night like that. Stiles doesn't ask for a lot, he really doesn't, and this is just too much. Especially since Scott's refusing to answer his phone, even when Stiles calls and leaves voicemails.

The letter is placed on top of Stiles' laptop, since it's close to nine and the post office closes at five. The house is empty, Stiles' dad gone out on a robbery case, so everything seems ten times creepier than it really is. Every noise sounds like a serial killer or a serial rapist or the little girl from The Grudge. It's the beauty of having an overactive imagination; you never run out of things that might possibly be coming to get you.

Of course, once the letter is sent off, Stiles hopes to rid himself of some of his empty house fears. He figures writing to a criminal might protect him from _other _criminals, since prisoners generally know their way around the crime scene. At least, he hopes they do, since he's got a lot riding on this.

The air turns on with a loud thumping noise, something his dad promised to get checked out, and Stiles falls from his desk chair with a bang. He moans loudly and swears even louder, pulling himself into a sitting position using the edge of his desk. The letter stares down at him, even though it technically doesn't have eyes, and he glares at it.

"Oh yeah, you think that's funny, don't you? At least I'm not the one sitting in a jail cell." He cocks his head, "Although, that might be kind of cool. Do you think jail birds throw wicked parties?"

"I bet you they know where to get all the good drugs." He muses to himself, noting the early hour and also how damn tired he is. It would probably be a good idea to go to bed, since he has "lacrosse practice" with Scott early tomorrow morning, even though he's considering just not going.

He would, if he wasn't certain that Scott would come barging in his room anyway, just so they could spend an unholy amount of time chucking a lacrosse ball back and forth in the hopes that they might make first string.

It's a vain hope, and one that Scott's been entertaining for an unhealthy amount of time. Allison's arrival at the beginning of the summer hasn't helped either, since she has a lot of faith in her asthmatic boyfriend. Stiles blames her for the whole fiasco, at least partially, and always makes sure to damn her to hell when he drags his ass out of bed at eight in the morning. Mostly though, he spends his time damning Scott.

Stiles doesn't go to bed. Instead, he chooses to slide on his ass down the stairs to watch a movie. The options are Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, etc. It's a close call, really, but HP wins out. There's something exciting about watching a young Tom Felton prance around and imagining Derek Hale, whoever he might be, as a prissy white kid in for robbing a convenience store on a bad day.

"Great, I got Jackson as a pen pal." Stiles snorts, thinking about the pretty boy behind bars. Jackson would be lucky to make it two days in jail, lacrosse muscles factored in, because he's got no balls whatsoever. Stiles is convinced that's why he enjoys messing with Scott and him every chance he gets.

"That or he's just an asshole." Stiles sighs and banishes Jackson from his mind, concentrating on the three headed dogs and creepy professors of Hogwarts. After the third run in with Snape, he begins supplying his own dialogue, most of it explicit. By the end of the movie, Harry is forever indebted to Ron for being "a ginger" and Hermione is secretly doing Fred in a broom closet, because there's got to be something scandalous in every movie.

When his dad comes home, Stiles head back up to his room, bidding the letter (and Derek) a goodnight before crawling into bed. The letter glows softly in the light from his charging phone, like a beacon or something supernatural, and Stiles falls asleep watching it and wondering what kind of a person Derek really is.

He just really hopes he isn't like Jackson.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:**

**Update :D**

**Should the next part be in Derek's POV?**

**Tell me what ya think.**

* * *

"Scott, I know you have a girlfriend and all, and I'm not the most supportive of this lacrosse training, but we did have plans. And, I would really appreciate it if you would get your ass to the lacrosse field, you know, just a thought." Stiles snaps and slams the end call button, throwing his phone with little concern for where it lands. He can feel the sweat pooling under his arms and around other places, the heat almost unbearable even at the ungodly hour of 8:30 AM.

"And to think," He mutters angrily, "I dragged my ass out of bed just to be blown off."

It would help if Scott had the decency to text, call, or maybe even answer his phone. It's not like Stiles is going to hunt him down, even though it's a rather appealing thought when he considers slamming Scott's head against a tree many, many times. When Scott is thoroughly bruised and blackened, Stiles might tie him to the lacrosse goal post.

Stiles lugs every bit of lacrosse gear back up to his jeep, muttering the worst swears and damnations he can think of all the way. He switches from cursing Scott and cursing his piece of shit jeep on the way home, since Scott has a tendency to go AWOL but the jeep likes to crap out at very inconvenient times. It makes the competition close, so close Stiles has to call a draw, even as his phone blinks "No New Messages".

"Really, I don't ask a lot." Stiles grumbles as he yanks the stuff into the living room and abandons it on the floor, "I really only ask to get back what I give, which is a lot."

"You know Scott," He stomps up the stairs, "This is feeling a lot like a one sided relationship."

His room is messy, covered in papers and junk food wrappers, and dark from the lack of working bulbs in the ceiling fan and the closed curtains. Stiles' dad always complains about the mess and the lack of light, claiming Stiles is going to turn into some kind of hoarder. The only clear spaces are the area surrounding the computer on Stile's' cluttered desk and the desk chair, which Stiles promptly falls into. He spins wildly, groaning and throwing his hands out, knocking several things off of his desk. A mug of pencils, an old camera that doesn't work, and something made of paper all go flying.

"What the-?" Stiles stops the chair and bends to retrieve the envelope, "I need to mail you."

He studies the sloppy address and stamp, tucking the letter into his shirt pocket. The post office doesn't open until 9:30, which means he has nearly an hour to kill before he can go. An hour isn't enough time to watch a movie, and he's not someone who spends time reading books, so he calls Scott for the billionth time.

"Stiles?" Scott answers after the fifteenth ring, voice irritated. Stiles balks, not really expecting anyone to answer, but quickly regains the use of his mouth.

"Hey, Scott! Fancy hearing your voice, you know, after you ignored the last fifteen calls."

"Stiles, I'm a little busy right now. I only answered in case this was important."

"Important? You wanna talk important? Then tell me why the hell I was out on the lacrosse field at _eight __in the freaking morning_ with a large amount of lacrosse gear and _no you_."

"Shit! I forgot about that!" Scott, at least, sounds genuinely sorry about it. Stiles can almost _hear_ the hand running through his friend's dark hair.

"Yeah, you did." Stiles agrees, spinning his desk chair again. He watches the cluttered floor of his bedroom pass by as he spins, leaning back into the seat.

"I'm sorry, but some things came up."

"Allison." Scott interjects, "You mean Allison came up."

"We're exploring the woods." Scott sounds annoyingly happy about wandering around in a bunch of trees. Stiles sighs and shakes his head, closing his eyes. If Scott wants to wander around for hours, getting horribly lost in the process, who is he to judge?

"Whatever, man." Stiles pulls the phone away from his ear and hangs up, tossing the device on his desk. The call didn't even last five minutes, which is a bummer. The awkward amount of time left him isn't enough to do anything. Generally, Stiles' random internet searches last several hours.

A few more spins in his chair and he decides to go for a walk, perhaps working off some of the betrayal. Sure, it's hot as hell outside, but he needs to get more Vitamin D anyway. At least, that's what his and Ms. McCall always tell him; that and to take his Adderall. He never listens to them, but it sounds like as good an idea as any. The letter tucked safely in his pocket, he heads back out into the bright sunlight, prepared to walk until he can walk no longer.

Outside is hotter than he expected.

Outside is also way more boring than he expected.

The heat has succeeded in keeping people off of the streets, everyone tucked into their houses with air conditioning and cold drinks. By the time Stiles reaches the end of his street, he's regretting his decision. Granted, he almost always regrets his decisions, but it's still a little disheartening to regret a decision so goddamn soon.

He blames Scott, and not just because Scott's an asshole. If Scott had just shown up, Stiles would have been able to convince him that being Jackson's bitch isn't really worth the agony of practicing in the summer heat, and they would be tucked away playing CoD or something of that nature. He might even have been inclined to let Allison join in, though only because Scott would have been a total bitch otherwise.

"But no." Stiles throws his hands up, "Instead, I'm working the streets."

His sneakers slap against the pavement, the rubber warming with the heat of the concrete. He wipes some sweat off of his forehead and sighs, stopping to take a break. He's got a few more minutes until the post office opens, and the post office is just across the street. He crosses his arms, glances around to make sure no one is going to be coming anytime soon, and settles down Indian style on the sidewalk.

The time he has to wait gives him plenty of opportunity to consider the endless amount of possibilities in accordance to the letter. He could get a response, the letter could come back, he could just keep sending letters to a convict who doesn't give a damn about outside contact. It would be preferable to get a chatty convict, but Stiles has resigned himself to not being picky.

When the post office opens he's the first one through the doors, dropping his letter on the counter with a smile and a compliment for the benefit of the overweight woman manning the counter. She simpers and takes his letter, promising to give it "extra special attention" which creeps Stiles out.

The rest of the day is spent planning his next letter, talking his dad into searching for Derek Hale into the database, and eating a whole pizza because Scott isn't around and his dad is on a diet.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:**

**Yea! **

**Update!**

**Sorry if this is OOC.**

* * *

Derek Hale never gets letters.

He likes not getting letters, since he doesn't typically like having any sort of obligation towards other people (such as answering letters.) It's not a new thing, he's always been a bit gruff when it comes to other people, but it's strengthened since his last girlfriend Kate Argent.

If he ever does get letters, they're from his sister Laura, though she generally just comes to visit.

Derek Hale never gets letters, which is why he almost doesn't except the one currently being shoved at him by one of the guards. His fingers close around the crumpled envelope automatically when the guard shoves it directly in his face, and he fights the urge to scowl at the man, since that will only get him in trouble.

The letter's not from Laura; the handwriting is too messy and she already visited a week ago. Derek inspects the envelope for a second before ripping it open and pulling out the equally wrinkled and worn sheet of paper. The same messy scrawl lines the paper, and Derek learns that he's got a new pen pal named Stiles. The letter is pretty standard, except the kid is quick to admit he has a big mouth on him. Derek can see that, since his letter fills up the whole sheet of paper and doesn't really seem to go anywhere.

He shoves the letter in his pocket and decides to forget about it.

Of course, when he's lying in his bunk to avoid socializing, he can't help but pull the letter out again. He reads it several times over before throwing it on his bed and getting to his feet, deciding it might be worth it just to find out a little bit more about the kid. If not for him than for Laura, who's convinced he's going to become some sort of mute or recluse if he doesn't find someone else to talk to. She likes to blame his lack of friends for his pining and what she calls his "attitude," which is just the way his face naturally looks.

Sort of.

He hunts down some paper and a blunt pencil which he isn't allowed to take back into his bunk in case he decides to kill somebody with it, so his letter writing is put on view for the whole of the prison. A lot of the guards stand around just to tease him about his new found skills, joking amongst themselves about the rumor that he was nearly illiterate. Derek chooses to ignore them, scribbling out a quick letter and shoving it in the plain white envelope angrily.

_Dear Stiles, _

_Yes, I got your letter._

_Derek is fine._

_Your friend sounds like an asshole._

Derek is quite proud of the letter, despite its cursory feel. He can't wait to get Laura off his back, since he now has a sort of friend, even though Derek is never going to allow himself to be called that.

It's not that he's completely opposed to having friends, just that the friends he's had are all sullen and cynical like him. Stiles sounds suspiciously like an optimist, though Derek can already tell he's got a sarcastic side to him. Derek happens to enjoy sarcasm and, as long as Stiles uses it liberally, they should get along just fine.

It's not going to turn into anything personal or anything wordy on Derek's part. In fact, it's not very likely to last. Stiles will soon stop writing or, more likely, Derek will soon stop writing once Laura is appeased.

If Laura ever manages to _be _appeased. She spends half her time worrying about Derek and the other half teasing him, which he's grateful for and really, really annoyed by.

The letter is mailed off with the rest of the letters that night and Derek tries to ignore the goading of the other inmates who _don't _write letters, and find it entertaining to make jokes about the letter writers needing constant reassurance from their mothers. It's immature and stupid and Derek would very much like to strangle them all except he knows that that would just get him in trouble.

So he remains quiet and ignores the snide remarks about him mother being a whore and tries to channel his energy into something more useful, like killing them all in his head. It's bloody and quite calming, once he really gets into it, and maybe the looks on his face scares them a little, because they stop targeting him soon after.

That night, he lies awake and thinks about Stiles and Scott and why exactly he's supposed to care about Stiles and his problems. Sure, Stiles is sarcastic and has the potential to be funny, but he also has the potential to be just as whiny as every other teenager out there. He could be writing just to complain about his life, while Derek sits in a prison cell.

If that happens, Derek's going to stop writing.

If that doesn't happen, Derek's still probably going to stop writing.

It's not like he knows the kid and, more importantly, he doesn't owe him anything. In fact, he almost regrets sending a letter back, since now Stiles is just going to expect him to send another one.

And another one, and another one, and another one.

Derek doesn't think of himself as someone who acts on expectations, but he also doesn't consider himself a complete dick. And ignoring expectations is slightly dick-y, in a way.

Besides, he's just kidding himself if he thinks Laura's going to let him skulk out of Stiles' reach _that_ easily.

All of this is troubling and keeps Derek up half the night because, honestly, he really wishes he had never gotten the damn letter in the first place.

Like he wishes he never met Kate.

Or, fell in love with her.

Or, believed her.

Laura's going to have a field day about the goddamn letter, he just knows it.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:**

**I have not actually decided if Derek is a wolf or not. **

**I'm leaning towards no, but more on that later. **

**Anyway, I tried to make this a little bit longer, so I'm sorry if that failed miserably. **

* * *

"Stiles, you got a letter in the mail."

Stiles jumps up at his dad's voice and bolts down the stairs, skidding to a stop in the living room as his dad gives him a tired look and holds the white envelope out. He doesn't say anything as Stiles takes it and Scott, who's finally decided he needs some "Bro time" slips down the stairs after him. He tilts his head at the envelope and John rolls his eyes, all of which Stiles catches merely because he knows it's coming. He hasn't told Scott about his pen pal and his dad _always _manages to find appropriate times to do an eye roll.

"Nice." Stiles flips the paper over to check the back, "I got three sentences."

"You can't expect much out of people like him." His dad reminds him, heading into the kitchen. Stiles hears the fridge door open and shut as Scott peers suspiciously at the letter and Stiles lets him be curious. He's nothing if not a little bit vindictive, and Scott has been brushing him off far too much lately.

"What's that?" Scott finally abandons all dignity and pride, grabbing for the letter and missing. Stiles holds the paper just out of reach, pinning Scott with a bitchy look as he does because, really, Scot doesn't deserve to read the letter.

"It's a letter from a friend."

"You have friends?"

"Very funny, Scottie Boy." Stiles spits and tucks the letter back in its now mutilated envelope, shoving the whole thing in his back pocket. He does this partially because it's easier than making room in his front pockets and partially because he's allowing Scott the chance to grab it on the way upstairs. He's vindictive, yes, but he's no asshole.

Scott takes the bait and Stiles feels the letter slip from his pocket about halfway up the stairs. Scott's so absorbed in reading and, Stiles can only hope, rereading that he runs smack into the wall and drops the letter on the ground. As he moans and rubs his head, Stiles smirks and retrieves his letter.

"He called me an asshole." Scott protests as soon as the pain in his head has subsided enough for him to quit complaining. Stiles shrugs and tosses the letter on his desk.

"Well, you are."

"I am not!" Scott defends himself, crossing his arms and snatching the letter up, "He doesn't even know me!"

Stiles pulls the letter out of his friends grasp and looks it over, "He says you _sound _like an asshole. He didn't technically say you _are _an asshole."

"Same thing! What did you say about me?" He finally catches on to the fact that Stiles had to have mentioned him in an unfavorable light and pins Stiles with a wounded look which, with Scott's puppy dog eyes, is lethal. However, Stiles can feel himself becoming angry all over again at the injustice that is his friend's teenage relationship of epic proportions.

"I told him the tale of Stiles and the No Show Friend."

"Dude, you know that's only because I have a girlfriend now!"

"Really good logic, Scott. Honestly, I'm impressed." Stiles folds his arms and surveys Scott's hurt expression, shaking his head and tossing the letter on his bed, "Seriously, dude, you need to get over yourself."

"You're just jealous."

"Oh yeah, I'm way jealous. You get a hot girlfriend and I get a convict pen pal! Who the hell _wouldn't _be jealous!?" Stiles throws up his hands, but Scott is tilting his head like he does when he's curious. He looks like a puppy that's just found something it's not sure if it can play with.

"Derek's a convict? What's he in for?"

"I have no idea." Stiles sighs, "Dad won't tell me if he found anything."

"Have you tried looking him up?" Scott suggests and Stiles seriously considers slapping him upside the head, since looking someone up is always (always) the first thing you do when you're curious. Instead, he tries his best to answer the question politely and not at all sarcastically even though Scott technically deserves it.

"Yeah, all I can find is stuff about a fire." Stiles falls into his desk chair and opens his laptop, pulling up the few sites he's found about the Hale fire, "See? It's all about how the whole family died except for a sister, Derek, and an uncle."

"Wow." Scott breathes, staring at the screen, "So he lost everything?"

"Yeah." Stiles nods, "They thought he was the arson, but they eventually dropped the charges. No one knows who did it or why." Stiles clicks on one of the other links and points to a picture of a burnt house, "That's the old house."

"It's kind of creepy." Scott shivers.

"A little bit. See, they were all trapped in the house, because someone blocked the doors and the windows."

It's a creepy story, and one that keeps Stiles up at night. Mostly he wonders why someone would do something so horrific, but he also considers what it must have been like for Derek and his sister (and, of course, their uncle). Stiles knows what it's like to lose _someone_, but to lose _everyone_? It's not something he can even begin to comprehend.

"What's that?" Scott points to a small paragraph at the bottom of the page and Stiles squints at it.

"Oh, apparently Derek tried to pin the blame on this girl Kate Argent. The police questioned her and everything, but they didn't find any good evidence and she got away."

"Can't they find fingerprints?"

"How? All the fingerprints would have been burned." Stiles types Google in his web browser and waits for the search engine to load, typing in "Hale Fire" as soon as it does, "There was no other evidence."

The same sites as a few nights previously pop up, all of them restating the fact that no evidence was ever found. Whoever killed all those people obviously knew what they were doing. Stiles double clicks one of the sites and a newspaper article comes up; the date puts it at a few days after the fire. It's pretty standard, listing the facts and making statements about the horrific violence inflicted upon what was a good family. The Hales, according to the article, were happy to help out around the neighborhood. Laura was apparently very into track and their mother was big in the school system.

"Jesus." Scott straightens and moves to sit on Stiles bed, looking at the letter with a renewed curiosity. Stiles can see the wheels turning in his head, cranking out ideas both short lived and short sighted. If Scott has a talent, it's coming up with ideas no more planned out than an impromptu robbery and done away with within the hour.

"Why don't you ask Derek?" Scott suggests and Stiles blinks at him.

"Really? You want me to ask Derek Hale, prisoner and possible arsonist, who did it? Really?"

"You said he was dismissed!" Scott argues.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean he didn't do it! No evidence means no _freaking _evidence! He could have done it, they just don't know!" Stiles rants, flailing a bit and spinning his chair around.

"Then why's he in jail?"

"I have no idea. I looked him up on one of those public records sites and they have no idea who he is. All I know is that he's being held in Texas." Stiles stops his chair, "And that's from the address."

"So, why don't you ask him?" Scott jumps up and begins pacing, like he actually knows what he's doing, "Become friends and then ask him. Friends answer other friends questions."

"I don't think you're exactly the friendship expert, Scott." Stiles says and Scott glares at him.

"Look, this is way more important than me and Allison and you."

"We don't even know this guy." Stiles drums his fingers on his thigh, "I'm just doing this because I'm bored out of my friggin' mind."

"Aren't you curious, though?" Scott pleads, "I mean, he's a _prisoner _in a _jail_!"

"And you're an asshole. Now that we've stated the _obvious_, can we go back to 'No, I am not going to ask a potential _arsonist _why the fuck he's in jail!'"

Scott bites his lip and stares at the ground, like it's feeding him better ideas as each one fails, before snapping his fingers, "Stiles, you always say your life is boring, right?"

"I tend to, yes." Stiles narrows his eyes, "Are you suggesting I take to fishing personal information out of jailbirds to make my life interesting?"

"This is a once in a life time chance, I mean, there's only one Derek Hale."

"And there's only one Hale Fire..." Stiles continues, letting his mind wander to all the possibilities, "And there's only one way to find out what happened."

"Are you going to let this pass you by?" Scott grins and Stiles sighs.

"No." He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes tiredly, "No, I guess I'm not."


	5. Chapter 5

**Ok, so I actually have an idea of where this might be heading. **

**That means that, instead of humor, the category might change to mystery or drama. **

**It kind of changed (my thought process).**

**Anyway, no wolves in this (I have decided) and yeah. **

**Also, I'm thinking about doing a Chicago (the musical)/Teen Wolf thing (with Scott as Roxie and Jackson as Velma, etc.)...what do you guys think?**

* * *

Scott decides (immediately after goading Stiles into possibly risking his own life for the sake of good old curiosity) that Stiles is too socially awkward to write a letter to a convict about said convicts possible man slaughtering hobbies with any sort of tact. Of course, he only states that he wants to be a part of the initial discovery, but Stiles can read between the lines better than Scott can fucking _read_. At least, he imagines he can.

It isn't long before they've got half their focus on the letter and the other half on internet searches, most of them prominently featuring Derek Hale and the Hale fire. Stiles tries searching Kate Argent, but he doesn't get so much as a Facebook page. If she exists (which, with how little Stiles actually _knows _Derek, she very well might not) she's gone deep into hiding with no intention of ever coming out.

"I would too if I was accused of arson." Scott says idly after Stiles relates the news, tapping a pencil against his forehead, "I mean, that has to be embarrassing."

"Or, maybe she knows something and Derek is threatening her?" Stiles suggests. Scott shrugs, proceeding to chew on the pencil's eraser. Stiles smacks the back of his head and retrieves the pencil as it falls from Scott's fingers.

"Why would she be scared? Derek's in jail and his whole family's dead."

"Not his whole family, remember?" Stiles waves a hand wildly towards his computer, "He still has a sister and an uncle roaming free."

"Yeah, but," Scott wrinkles nose, "they don't really sound like a threat."

"Scott, you don't even know them." Stiles reminds, twirling the pencil between his fingers, "And you should know, with the way your girlfriend can shoot a bow and arrow, that some girls are a smidge more dangerous than they seem."

"That's Allison, though." Scott states wistfully and Stiles snorts at him.

"Really? You think Allison is the only _special _girl? Listen to this," He twists in his chair and faces his laptop, "Laura was a big track person, a big gymnastics person, and a local member of the _gun club_."

"So she can run, dodge, _and_ shoot." Scott seems impressed, "But is she a psycho?"

"Not according to the internet." Stiles runs a hand across his short hair and shrugs, "Though she _could_ be the one that set the fire."

"If she started the fire, then why's Derek in jail?"

"Because he's not in for arson." Stiles can feel his brain lagging at the circles they seem to be going in, "He's in for something else that the government wants to keep from us."

"Seriously?" Scott asks and Stiles stares at him.

"How the hell should I know?"

"I still want to know who set the place on fire." Scott pointedly ignores the previous question and moves to stand beside Stiles at the desk, "Any ideas?"

"Yes, because I know _so much more _than the police that friggin' investigated." Stiles grumbles, "It could be _anyone. _However, there are a few key suspects. Obviously there's Kate, and then we have Derek, as well as Laura and Peter."

"Peter?"

"The uncle. I mean, it's kind of funny that they're the only ones that made it out alive. And, we have to add Kate, since she was accused of it by someone who might actually know."

"But you said she-"

"Again: _I'm not the police who investigated._"

"I know that!" Scott snaps, "But you sound a hell of a lot more convincing than the police that _investigated_."

"Thanks, dude." Stiles huffs, "That means a lot coming from you."

Scott punches him in the arm, but it's more of a formality than anything else. Stiles doesn't even have the heart to say "Ow" or "You asshole." They're both absorbed in the fine art of finding shit on the internet without hacking into any federal sites and getting arrested, which is a fine line to toe when you're two teenagers hyped up on an intense need to know and a lack of sleep. Stiles has had his fair share of practice, but rarely with Scott breathing down his neck, since most of his internet searches spawn from boredom.

"So, you think Kate could have done it?"

"I think, if she's real and not some fake, she could be. But then again, we only know what the internet is giving us, which is not much. There's a lot we could be missing, whole lives that could be hidden behind what the press sees fit to tell us. Seriously, there could be an ex-wife with a few screws loose that we know nothing about."

"So we should try Derek?"

"That could take months." Stiles shakes his head, fingers hovering above the keyboard, "And he could stop writing if we say the wrong thing."

"Then we just don't say the wrong thing."

"Easy for you to say, Oh Wise One." Stiles scowls, "You aren't the one writing to him."

"I could be." Scott states thoughtfully, "What if he got two pen pals?"

"He thinks you're an asshole," Stiles ignores Scott's spluttering protests, "I doubt he would write you back."

"What are we going to do with this information, anyway?" Stiles finally breaks the silence, pausing in his frantic typing as he considers the question. Scott makes a soft noise that sounds a lot like he's calling Stiles an idiot in his head before deeming the question worthy of an answer.

"Wouldn't it be cool to solve a ten year old case? And, if we got Derek out, we could totally meet up with him. Besides, I only suggested we find out what he's in for. You're the one searching the Hale fire and making me curious." Scott accuses while Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose and wonders how he got stuck with such an illogically logical bastard as a friend. And, admittedly, one who's much too charismatic.

"Whatever." Stiles closes the computer with a snap and reaches for the long abandoned pencil, "Get me a sheet of paper."

"Why me?" Scott whines and Stiles shoots him his best "Childish asshole" look. It doesn't make Scott any less whiny, but he does force him into some semblance of helpful productivity. Nearly five minutes after he asked for it, Stiles is handed a sheet of wrinkled notebook paper.

"How should I start this thing?"

"Just ask him what he's in for." Scott says morosely from his new spot sprawled on the floor. Stiles kicks him in the side once before returning to his notebook paper, biting his lip thoughtfully at the challenge that is tact and fishing for information.

_Dear Derek, _

_I'm glad you did, and I'm really glad you wrote back, since I was beginning to think you wouldn't. Not that I would have cared about you any less, it's just comforting to know that you're listening. _

_Oh thank god, Mr. Hale makes you sound like a fifty year old pedophile. _

_Yeah, Scott's got his bad side, but he actually came over today for a guy's night thing. We've been playing video games and, oddly enough, discussing you. Not, like, in a bad way. He was just being Scott and wanting to know how I suddenly have people sending me letters which, seriously, I have plenty of friends that would send me letters. _

_Ok, not really, but that's beside the point. _

_Anyway, I was wondering what hobbies you have. Like, do you knit?_

_Can you knit me a sweater?_

_Do they let you do that in jail?_

_Or, do you paint or something? I could totally use a painting in my room, even if it's of a prison cell. Like, seriously, that would be awesome. _

_I don't have any actual talents except for Googling random shit on a school night which, I'll have you know, is ten times more useful than trigonometry or any kind of science. Why learn things when you can just look it up on the internet? Reap all the rewards of someone else's hard work. _

_Sorry, I got off track. _

_If you have any hobbies; you let me know. _

_I'm all ears, man. Well, I guess technically I'm all eyes, since I'm reading these things and not listening to your voice (which I imagine is really deep, is it?)_

_You should totally answer this as soon as you get it because Scott is dying to know more about you and your prison buddies. Unless you don't happen to have any prison buddies. Then he's just dying to know more about you. _

_Anyway, signing out now,_

_Stiles. _

Stiles finishes the letter and passes it to Scott who reads over it with a serious expression on his face. Stiles can watch as his eyes jump from line to line, the furrows in-between his eyebrows increasing in size and number with each new bounce. When he reaches the end, he shakes his head and balls the whole paper up, throwing it back at Stiles who squawks angrily and bats it aside before it can poke his eye out with one of its jagged bits.

"What the hell, Scott?"

"That was a terrible letter." Scott deadpans.

"What do you mean?" Stiles demands, un-crumpling his letter and smoothing it ineffectually. Scott rolls his eyes and shoves himself off the floor, keeping his arms straight out behind him to keep himself upright.

"We're never going to learn anything if you beat around the bush." Scott explains slowly, like he's talking to a toddler, and Stiles chucks a pen at him, very nearly getting him in the eye. It's Scott's turn to squawk, though his is more fear than anger. Apparently, Stiles has murder in his eyes.

"I mean, it's not like you have to _ask him_ but you have to at least _ask him_." Scott tries to explain his very muddled and illogical thought process, which only annoys Stiles further. Maybe Scott realizes this, because he stops talking very soon after beginning and shrugs helplessly.

"Let me get this straight; you want me to say, in all seriousness, 'Please, Derek, tell me if you killed your family in a fire and, if you didn't, why you're in jail. If that's not enough, I would really also like to know (assuming you're not the murderer of your whole family) why you happen to be in jail in the first place.'?"

"Exactly." Scott looks so pleased it's nearly impossible for him to be joking.

"I don't think that's a good idea." Stiles settles for the one sentence before smoothing he letter some more and searching his desk drawers for an envelope. He finally finds one at the bottom of a stack of random junk that's been out of commission for years, possibly due to the complete lack of actual need for them. The envelope is wrinkled and dirty, but not visibly ripped or written on. In Stiles' eyes it's perfect.

Scott eyes the envelope grumpily as Stiles shoves the letter inside and seals it shut, writing the address as neatly as possible on the front. He's out of stamps, meaning he'll have to buy one from the post office when he mails the letter first thing the next day.

"We're never going to figure it out." Scott intones miserably from the floor and Stiles tosses the letter to the side, reopening his laptop to begin his fevered and somewhat pointless searching again.

"That, my friend, sounds like a challenge."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:**

**This is a gift to ArchangelDemon since they (he/she) private messaged me and made me happy. **

**We're bros now.**

**This was going to be in Derek's POV, but YOLO.**

**It's not.**

* * *

Stiles groans and pulls his face from the keyboard, wincing at the string of gibberish he managed to face type in his sleep. Google is at a loss as to what he was trying to say, and he presses the backspace key until all the letters are gone, spinning his chair around to face the room. Scott is sprawled on the bed, mouth gaping and hair sticking in several different directions. He snorts and rolls completely off the bed, landing with a loud bang and a moan.

"Stiles?" He mumbles and Stiles yawns hugely, stretching his hands above his head.

"Let's go get something to eat." Stiles suggests as Scott rubs his eyes and gets to his feet, looking even worse than Stiles, and he didn't even fall asleep on a keyboard.

"Sleep good?" Scott grins cheekily at the key marks on Stiles' cheek and dances out of the way as Stiles attempts to kick him in the shin, which results in a short scuffle where Stiles jumps Scott and Scott wrestles Stiles to the floor, finally claiming victory when Stiles yells "Rape" as loud as he possibly can.

"What do you have?" Of course Scott is back on the topic of food as soon as they're both back on their feet, Stiles making a point of dusting his shirt off. He shrugs at the question and gestures to the door, silently suggesting Scott go check the pantry and see for himself. Scott is quick to do so, bounding out the door and down the stairs as Stiles follows at a more sedate pace. He can't help but laugh at his friend's enthusiasm, even after a late night of research and attempting to thwart sleep.

Despite his much calmer pace, Stiles still manages to trip a little on the stairs, which causes his heart to beat ten times faster than it should and makes Scott laugh his ass off, even when Stiles pointedly reminds him about his bed fail from just a few minutes prior. Scott merely shrugs and reminds Stiles that, while he fell out of a bed, Stiles tripped on _the stairs_, which only makes sense due to the lack of sleep and fucks Stiles is dealing with.

"You don't have anything good to eat." Scott pouts when they finally, finally reach the kitchen. Stiles falls into one of the kitchen chairs and says something along the lines of "Because I care". He's already starting to feel the late night and his day has only just begun.

"You should." Scott huffs, "Since I'm your guest."

"What, do you expect me to go out and buy you something?" Stiles asks and groans when Scott seems genuinely interested in the idea, as if that's something Stiles is _actually _willing to do.

"Maybe I'll just call up Allison."

"No girls allowed." Stiles slams a fist on the table in mock indignation at the very _idea _and Scott flips him off, pulling what has to be the stalest bag of chips on earth from the depths of the pantry. Stiles physically shies away from the proffered snack and figures it would be best to find his own breakfast, which turns out to be yogurt from the bottom drawer of the fridge. When Scott gags on the chips, he takes pity on his friend and gets him one too, tossing Scott a spoon from the dishwasher.

The yogurt is pretty decent and they both eat three cartons before deciding that they've got enough fuel for the day or, at least until lunch. Scott licks his spoon and babbles about plans he has with Allison while Stiles attempts to overlay the suicide worthy monologue with his own mindless plans. These mostly include several errands, such as grocery shopping and mailing off his second letter. Scott pauses in his speech when he hears "the letter" and pouts.

"We're never going to learn anything."

"You know, you keep saying that, but I don't believe you." Stiles pauses in his own speech making and shoots Scott an annoyed look, which Scott returns with a look of surprise.

"Hey! Allison's last name is Argent!"

"What?"

"Allison! Her last name is Argent! Like Kate's!" Scott bounces in his seat as Stiles slowly catches up, pieces clicking into place as he recalls the information from last night and pairs it with the newest bit. Suddenly, he can feel his eyes widening as he catches on, but something else distracts him before he can comment on it.

"It took you this long to remember your girlfriend's last name?"

Scott gives him a black look, "I only ever call her Allison."

"What about her parents?" Stiles throws up his hands and Scott looks embarrassed.

"I haven't met them yet."

"Dude, she hasn't introduced you to her parents yet?" Stiles snorts, which only makes Scott angrier. He squirms in his seat and makes several comments about Stiles' lack of a love life, which doesn't impress Stiles much. He's used to the pointed comments about his lonely existence and it's not like he's the one whose girlfriend hasn't introduced him to her parents yet.

"We haven't been dating that long!" Scott attempts to save himself.

"You've been dating for at least a month!"

"Like you know the proper protocol!" Scott snaps, which only makes Stiles laugh harder, since he's never heard Scott use a word as big as 'protocol' in his life. Scott's face is bright red as Stiles laughs hysterically and, a few minutes in, becomes fairly sure that he's not going to be able to stop for a long time. It's the kind of laugh that accompanies a long night and a lack of Adderall; one that he tries hard to avoid.

"Oh, shut up!" Scott finally punches him in the shoulder and the pain is enough to stop Stiles' laughter and make him yelp, grabbing at his arm and glaring at Scott.

"Dude! There are other ways to get me to stop laughing!"

"Like what?"

"Just tell me your GPA." Stiles snorts and, suddenly, he's laughing again. Scott shoves back his chair and disappears into the living room, muttering darkly all the way as Stiles falls from his chair and rolls around on the floor laughing at what is, in hindsight, a pretty horrible joke. He's sure he could have done better if he'd bothered to really think about it.

"No! Don't go!" Stiles scrambles to his feet as the living room door opens and Scott yells a profanity laced farewell over his shoulder, "I won't make fun of you again! Scott!"

"Scott! Come on, man! I didn't mean it!" Stiles yells out the door and Scott pauses halfway down the driveway, turning around merely to flip Stiles off again.

"You're the asshole, Stiles." Scott shouts back, face livid.

"Ok, ok." Stiles placates, "I'm the asshole."

"You're a bastard, too."

"Is this going to take long?"

Scott sighs, "I'll ask Allison about Kate on our date today."

"Ok?"

"Well, it could help, couldn't it?"

"I doubt she knows anything, but you can try." Stiles leans against the doorframe and chews on his lip thoughtfully, "I wonder how they're related."

"They might not be."

"Argent isn't a very common name, though." Stiles puts a hand to his forehead and winces, "My brain hurts."

"I wouldn't know how that feels." Scott responds bitterly. Stiles isn't sure whether he should feign repentance or seize the moment and go straight back into teasing Scott. He decides on remaining silent, just to avoid making things complicated again.

"Well, maybe she does know something." Scott finally breaks and begins again, trying to keep his faith in his girlfriend intact. Stiles nods thoughtfully and, to be agreeable, seriously considers the idea. If Kate is someone like a cousin or something, it would be likely that she might know _something_. But, then again, there are plenty of cousins on his mom's side that Stiles has never even met. It's too 50/50 and Stiles is too damn tired to think about it. He just wants to run his errands and maybe look up something completely trivial; like pandas.

"Text me if she does." Stiles commands and Scott looks seriously offended that he would even begin to think that Scott might _not _text him. Stiles knows, all too well, that it's likely Scott will forget to text him until the next day. It doesn't bother him, at least, not as much as it did before. He's come to terms with it; the fact that Scott now has someone of more importance than Stiles.

"See you later." Scott waves and heads down the driveway, turning left at the end and disappearing behind some bushes that the neighbor's like to keep ridiculously high for "privacy purposes." Stiles assumes it's because he's a teenage boy and the woman is slightly younger than the rest of the street's occupants, who're all well into their primes. His dad tries to say it's just because the houses are all a little close together.

The house is slightly lonely with everyone gone; Scott off to see Allison and Stiles' dad off to arrest people. When he talks, which he does a lot when he's by himself, the sound bounces off the walls and makes him shiver.

With the story of Derek's family and the mystery surrounding the fire, everything appears ten times creepier than it really is. It's like the tragedy jump started Stiles' imagination and made him that much more prone to seeing paranormal activity in the air kicking on. He jumps nearly five times in the ten minutes after Scott leaves before he can type pandas into the search bar of Google and get lost in what has to be the cutest internet search ever.

Pandas are a billion times better than fire and criminals.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:**

**Here's an update.**

"Who's Stiles?"

If Derek was ever undecided over whether his sister knew as much as claimed to know, he's not now. The questions comes out of the blue and nearly throws him off balance, though he quickly regains his composure and levels his sister with a disinterested look. She keeps her gaze steady, not even flinching at Derek's nonchalance, because she knows he's surprised. She's his sister, it's her job to know all the nuances and minute differences in his composed and "Really surprised but trying for composed" expressions.

"No one." Derek replies and Laura folds her arms, leaning back in her chair with a smirk.

"No one, huh?"

"Yep." Derek crosses his own arms in return, "No one."

"Really?" Laura bends down to retrieve her bag and pulls out a wrinkled envelope, flipping it over a few times like she's second guessing it's existence. Derek feels his stomach sink at the sight, because, how the hell did Laura get his letter? She's not supposed to have that in fact, as of a few days ago, she's not supposed to know about Stiles at all. Derek decided that the risk of having Laura contact Stiles was much too high for the small reward of having her lay off him for just a few minutes.

"How'd did you get that?" Derek abandons all attempts at being casual and reaches for the letter, which Laura is quick to pull out of his reach.

"I thought this was 'no one'?" She asks, feigning bemusement, and Derek lunges for the letter. One of the guards scattered about the room steps forward, hand reaching for something Derek doesn't want to deal with at the moment, and Laura laughs. She waves cheerily to the guard, "He thought he could lie to me." She explains and the guard grins, tipping his head in acknowledgement of Laura's total omniscience.

When the room resumes it's original appearance, with all the guards in their corners and Derek sitting placidly (at least, only fuming and not lunging or tackling), Laura holds the letter out to Derek. He grabs it, but her fingers tighten on the other side, and she clears her throat pointedly. She waits until Derek is looking at her before tilting her head towards the letter and frowning, "When were you going to tell me?"

And just like that; Derek feels guilty.

It's not even like she's visited several times since the beginning of the pen pal escapade, she hasn't even visited once, but Derek still feels like a horrible sibling for supposedly trying to keeping it from her. And, more logically, for _seriously considering_ keeping it from her. When it all comes down to it, Laura is all he has left, since Peter never bothers to visit unless Laura drags him over for Christmas. He always claims to be busy, but Derek knows he's just too wrapped up in his own life. According to Laura, he's doing well, with a slew of girlfriends (and boyfriends) to keep him happy.

"I don't know." He sighs and she lets the letter slip from between her fingers, eyes hard as Derek leans back in his seat. They spend several minutes just looking at each other, sizing each other up and attempting to get a read on just how serious the situation is for the other. Because, although they are as close as close can be, they're still two separate beings.

"How old is he?" Laura jerks her chin at the letter which Derek considers as he answers.

"It hasn't come up."

"What's his favorite color?"

"This is only the second letter I've gotten." Derek tucks it in his pocket and props his elbows on the table, "It's probably not going to work out, though."

"Why not?" Laura's expression tells him, unfortunately, that she understands exactly what he's trying to do. Derek shifts uncomfortably in his seat as she waits for his response, not sure what he could possibly say to cause the least amount of yelling. Laura crosses one knee over the other, a habit there mom always used to hate, and Derek sighs. He hates thinking about the family they had.

"He's not my type."

Laura grins at the words, reading into them without any sort of shame, and leans towards Derek conspiratorially, "How do you know?"

"I don't want to date him, Laura." Derek snaps and she rolls her eyes.

"Maybe not _now_, but think about later. What about when you know him better? You don't even know his favorite color! _Jesus_, Derek! He could be _exactly _you type!" Laura, as usual, gets carried away. One of the guards snickers and Derek glowers at him, turning back to Laura and glowering at her.

"_No_, Laura." He tries to put as much conviction (and finality) into his voice as he can, but Laura remains unperturbed. She clasps her hands together and sighs dramatically, like a girl talking about a celebrity crush.

"You could be so _cute _together!"

"You're being ridiculous."

"I am not!" She turns defensive, jabbing a finger at Derek, "_You _are!"

"Me!?"

"Yes, you!" She flaps a hand at the pocket containing the letter, "Two letters and you're already giving up! I call that ridiculous!" Derek's hand falls to the pocket and the letter as he considers her claim, shrugging at the accusation and accepting it, because there's no way she's going to give up if he turns it into an argument. He can take being ridiculous, just as long as he can stop the pen pal nonsense. Laura waits for him to defend himself and, when he doesn't, practically _growls _at the ignored attack. She's just as hot headed as Derek when she wants to be, although she tends to verbalize her anger more.

"You better reply!" She finally manages to spit out something coherent and, as an added bonus, Derek's own anger flares up in response to her words.

"I don't have to do anything!" He retorts and Laura shakes her head.

"Oh yes you do!"

"No, I really don't."

"Derek! You could make a friend! Meet somebody new!"

"I have you." Derek responds, "And Peter."

"Peter's a whore who never bothers to visit." Laura huffs, "And besides, I mean someone like Kate."

Derek tenses at the name and Laura, furious before, turns sympathetic in an instant. She reaches out for his hand but he jerks both of them off the table, looking away even as her eyes cling to the side of his face. She finally pulls her hand back, Derek can hear the bracelet rattling against the table, and mutters something under her breath. Derek can't hear it and he's sure he doesn't want to. He keeps his eyes locking on the wall as Laura taps her fingernails against the table.

"You have to talk about it sometime." She finally speaks again and Derek shakes his head.

"No."

"I don't mean with me." Laura continues as Derek taps his foot against the floor and tries to focus on anything but what she's saying. He doesn't want to argue again because, after all she's done, Laura doesn't deserve it. She's been nothing but good to him in her own, spunky way. She's given him a lot and he doesn't want to respond with hostility. He just wishes it could be easier than it is.

"With who then?" His voice is stiff, hard.

Laura is silent for a long time, like maybe she's rethinking her response. Only when Derek is close to turning around, just to check if she's still there, does she respond, "What about with Stiles?"

Derek can't resist the urge to gape at her, even as she looks anywhere but at him. Her gaze finally settles firmly by his right ear as he continues to stare at her and she tries to look casual, like she didn't just say something completely illogical. It's a long time before they look directly at each other again and even longer before they speak. Laura cracks first, as Derek knew she would, and gives Derek a desperate look.

"Come on, Derek, you need this! Don't even talk about Kate or-or the fire! Talk about, like, your favorite color! Or, maybe your favorite movie!"

"No."

"Please, Derek? I mean, really, this could be so good for you!"

"No."

"What if he _is _the one for you? You could be missing out on the chance of a lifetime!"

"I said _no_, Laura!"

"God, Derek! Take a risk!"

"I _did_!" Derek breaks and pushes his chair back, "Her name was Kate Argent and it didn't really work out."

"Derek!" Laura calls after him as he hits the door, twisting the doorknob impatiently as a guard heads over with a set of keys. Laura begins talking faster and faster, trying to get one last attempt in as Derek bolts through the door and disappears into the safety of the cells.


End file.
